


Book III: The Empress

by DarkeShayde



Series: The Arcana: A Retelling [3]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Dinner, Discovery, F/M, Ghosts, Haunting, Investigations, Magic, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Other, Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 02:10:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20858504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkeShayde/pseuds/DarkeShayde
Summary: Shayde has arrived at the Palace just in time for dinner with Countess Nadia. Over the dinner table, the Countess explains to Shayde why she called her there. She plans to hold the Masquerade again, but she needs Shayde to find her husband’s killer. Doctor Julian Devorak.





	Book III: The Empress

Inside the Palace, the floors, walls, and steep ceilings are all clean-cut polished stone. My breath is taken away by the beauty of this place. And I am here as a guest of the Countess. It is surreal. A servant with a blue feathered cap comes sweeping up to us. With a deep bow, they pass me and dash to Portia’s side.

“Chamberlain.” Portia greets them. “How are we doing on time?”

“Impeccable timing!” Comes the very enthusiastic reply. “The first course will be served shortly. Her ladyship has yet to descend.” Portia heaves a sigh of relief and hands her fruit basket off to the bright-eyed servant.

“Perfect. Tell the kitchen that our guest has arrived.” With a curtsy, the servant slips away disappearing behind a panel in the wall which slides seamlessly shut.

“I’ll show you to the dining room.” Portia says cheerfully. “Her ladyship will be there soon.” Dining? With the Countess? My surprise must show on my face, because Portia laughs and shakes her head.

“What? Don’t tell me that you thought we wouldn’t _feed_ you!” Portia giggles again. She leads me to a fine mahogany door at the end of the cavernous hall. She opens the door, leading me inside. I step into the dining room. Rich scents fill my lungs, unfamiliar and tantalizing. Before me is a long table laid heavy with platters of the most careful delicacy. Portia pulls out a chair for me, and I sink into the plush seat. Now that the food is right in front of me, my hunger returns tenfold. But the Countess has yet to arrive.

As I wait, I look around the room, and notice the strange painting on the wall across from me. I would be hard pressed not to notice considering it is a huge painting taking up most of the wall. The scene is that of a meal shared among a host of figures with the heads of beasts. The table is laden with small animals, provided by a central character with the head of a goat. Rays of gold glitter around its head, and its red eyes strikingly lifelike. It is a fine painting. Whoever the artist was, they had real talent. I find myself a little jealous of their skill.

“Welcome, Shayde. I see you are admiring the painting.” My head whips toward the head of the table. Countess Nadia is taking her seat, as graceful as I remember from last night, or this morning, I guess. Her lips curve into a placid smile when her eyes meet mine.

“Do you like it, Shayde? The painting.” She asks. I look over at the large painting again. I do like it. If not simply for the skill that went into it, then for the unique picture it presents. It is thought provoking.

“Yes.” I say simply. The Countess drums her elegant fingers along her cheekbone as I answer, watching me with idle interest.

“Oh? You have peculiar taste.” She says. “I cannot say that I care much for it. So why does it remain on the wall, you might ask?” I might have asked, had she not beaten me to it. A servant appears at my side to place a bowl of yogurt and cucumber soup before me. I carefully bring it to my mouth and drink.

“Sentimental value, I suppose.” Countess Nadia continues. “It was one of my husband’s favorites.” The Countess’ husband. Count Lucio … As his name takes form in my mind, the goat figure before me becomes somehow familiar. Suddenly, its red eyes are so vivid that I can almost feel them returning my gaze. Like there is another presence in the room that wasn’t here before. It is unnerving, to say the least.

“Beautiful red …” I mutter.

“Ah, yes. It is a beautiful red.” The Countess agrees. I didn’t realize that I’d said the words aloud. Amusement shimmers in the Countess’ brilliant eyes. “The goat-headed one in the middle is Count Lucio, or so it is supposed to be. Providing for the people as he saw himself. He certainly knew how to entertain.” She goes on. My empty bowl is whisked away. In its place is a dish of the flaky golden savories.

“I know how fondly the people of this city remember the Count’s Masquerade. Did you ever attend the Masquerade, Shayde? Our annual revelry in honor of my husband’s birthday … a delight to all Vesuvia. It is a memory now tinged with bitterness …” Her eyes darken as she speaks. “After Count Lucio was murdered at the last Masquerade.” I nearly choke. Mercifully, I catch myself. My pulse quickens nonetheless.

“Such a terrible shock to the guests. Such a vicious injustice upon this house. To slaughter the host while he celebrates, sharing his joy and prosperity with open doors?” I try to focus on my food, but my eyes keep drifting back to the painting.

Count Lucio’s murder … The story is full of holes, muddied by wild rumors and unanswered questions. But the end is always the same. The Count retired to his chambers, and by midnight, he and his chamber both were engulfed in flames. The culprit was captured on the spot, but before he could be brought to justice, he escaped. Ever since that day, guests to the Palace have been few indeed. I look away from the portrait, just in time to meet the Countess’ keen gaze.

“But now that you are here …” Now that I’m here …? She says it with such gravity, such confidence. I’m missing something, I can feel it hovering just out of reach. I decide to cut to the heart of the matter and just ask.

“Countess, what does any of this have to do with me?”

“Shayde, the Masquerade is _precisely_ why I called you here. This year, I intend to hold the Masquerade once more.” I stare at her. So does every servant in the room. How … why …? The Countess continues speaking. “The festivities in Lucio’s honor will be more fantastical than ever. There is but one loose end in need of tying. Count Lucio’s murderer still roams free, to this day. Doctor Julian Devorak, my husband’s former physician.” I sit very still, suddenly cold all over. Doctor Julian Devorak … now I remember the name on the wanted posters. Now I know exactly who broke into my shop. And who was walking around in broad daylight in the market just earlier today.

“Doctor Devorak confessed to the crime when we caught him. All that is left is his sentence.” Countess Nadia explains. “Execution by hanging.” There’s a terrible crash. I turn to see that Portia’s face is stricken with horror. At her feet, the broken remains of our dessert are seeping into the floor.

“Portia?” Countess Nadia questions in concern.

“F-forgive me, milady. Slippery hands.” Portia mumbles out. The Countess waves it off, merciful.

“You are forgiven.” Two servants rush to Portia’s aid, sweeping away the shattered porcelain with wind sprint speed. I’m mildly impressed.

“This is where you come in, Shayde.” Countess Nadia says. “Doctor Devorak has been very elusive. But you have quite the reputation. Rumor has it that you have surpassed even your Master Asra. I myself see the future, in dreams, whether I like it or not. And this is how I know you are the one who will find Doctor Devorak …” Nadia concludes.

“And … if we find him?” I ask. I know he is around, I’ve seen him twice in less than a day, but I need to know more before I agree. The Countess sets down her glass.

“_When_ we find him, we will bring him before the people so that all may see his long-awaited punishment.” The passion from earlier is back, and this time with a hint of bloodlust. “And so, to commence the festivities … The Doctor will die on the gallows for his terrible crime.” The Countess rises. On instinct I rise as well.

“Portia.” Countess Nadia says. “… Portia.”

“Yes, milady!” Portia snaps to attention. I notice that her eyes are glistening, as if she is holding back tears. Curious.

“Show Shayde to the guest quarters. I imagine there is much to ponder before the night is out.” She instructs. Portia nods.

“Right away, milady.” Portia pulls me to my feet, and with a humble bow, whisks me to the doorway. Portia is quiet as she ushers me down the hall toward my room. I don’t mind the quiet. The Countess’ words left us both with much to think about. After a few turns, we pass a wide staircase, veiled in shadow. A draft rushes down from the floor above, prickling my skin. It’s cold, and it smells of ash. Curled up on the bottom step are two large, lanky dogs. Fathomless eyes fix upon me, and they rise slowly, without a sound. Though they look as if they could strike at any moment, I sense no ill intent. I hold my out my hand, and they approach to sniff it. Their huffing breaths tickle my skin, and their tails start slowly wagging.

“Well, this is bizarre.” Portia tells me. “They never take kindly to strangers. It’s just how they were trained, but … I’ve never seen them act like this. This is Mercedes, and this is Melchior.” Slim snouts brush up against my sides as the dogs investigate me further. Satisfied, they draw back, looking at me expectantly. There’s something unsettling in their gaze. It remains me of something … Something in the back of mind is calling for caution. I take a careful step back, giving them plenty of space. The hounds trot dutifully back to their spot. They nearly blend into the marble. But their eyes remain fixed on me.

“Oh! No wonder they’re like this, they haven’t had their chamomile cakes!” Portia exclaims. She looks nervously from me to the two dogs, that sit still as statues. “Wait here, Shayde. And it’s probably best to keep your distance from them. I’ll be right back with those cakes.” Portia swoops through a sliding panel in the wall. I’m left alone in the hallway with the dogs. I can feel the bigger one, Melchior I think, sniff my side insistently. When I look down it simply pulls back and stares. Then the smaller one, Mercedes, is sniffing my other side, huffing samples of my scent. I whirl around … And it sits back on its haunches, watching me innocently. Cheeky. As I look into its one sanguine eyes, an unsettling sensation ripples through my body like a wave of fever.

_“A guest?_” I step back, gaze darting up and down the corridor. Who said that? The voice was coming from … the top of the stairs. I can only see so far into the hollow gloom. But there’s no one there. That much I can tell. I nearly jump when I feel yanking on my garments. The dogs. Their teeth are buried in my clothes, unrelenting as they drag me onto the stairs. I trip up the first few steps and their tails start wagging.

“Hey!” I cry as I try to wrench myself free, but the two dogs tug stubbornly. The dogs only let me go at the top of the stairs. The floor and walls are frigid stone, and the air smells of ash. My head is spinning, and I hardly feel the chill in the air. Though my heart is hammering, I summon a weak glimmer of light in my palm. I look around for the dogs, but they’re nowhere to be seen. There is a door ahead, partway open. Inside is a deeper darkness swallowing the feeble rays of light. Probably foolishly, I decide to go inside.

The magic in my palm shrinks to a fluttering glow when I step through the doorway. Coming from the hall, it’s warm inside. The thick air has a strong, peppery taste. A heavily canopied bed stretches midway across the room. I pass an extravagant suit of armor, a marble writing desk with a white peacock feather pen … all blanketed in ash like a snow-covered scene. My light flickers over a portrait on the wall, twice my height. My dim light stretches up the canvas. Though it’s hard to see, I have no doubt of the painting’s subject. Count Lucio. He looks younger than I expected, or the portrait is old. Or perhaps the artist was cantering to his vanity. The red of his coat is the cardinal hue from the panting in the dining room. The golden arm, a marvel of alchemical art. The fur hanging from his haughty shoulders looks impossibly fine, and …

_“Go on. Touch it.”_ That’s the voice I heard before. A miasma of thick, scorching air pushes my hand toward the portrait. But I feel nothing but ash and brushstrokes on canvas. There is snickering inside my head, as a haze settles over my mind.

_“Nothing like the real thing … seeing, unable to feel.”_ The voice continues. _“Such sweet torture …”_ Warmth like an ember radiates at the back of my neck. The magic in my palm reacts, its glow stretching past my fingers and down my wrist. That was unexpected.

_“Ahhh …”_ The strange sensations subside, and the voice grows fainter, even wistful. _“There, in your energy … ohh, it’s him. Could you be …?”_ All at once, the haze vanishes from my mind. I reel back from the portrait. Something soft meets the back of my knees, and I fall through folds of dusty velvet into the massive bed. Great plumes of ash billow around me when my back hits the bedcovers. This is Count Lucio’s bed … right where he was murdered. Incinerated. Then this fine ash in my eyes, in my nose and all over me … is what’s left of him. I clap a hand over my mouth, smothering a scream as I struggle to stand. I fight off the urge to be sick.

_“Going so soon? You’re no fun.”_ That voice … it echos from every corner of the room, and from within my mind. Since I know that voice does not belong to me, it should _not_ be inside my mind.

“Who are you?” I ask against my better judgement. The temperature drops in a heartbeat, my hurried breaths turning into fine mist at my lips. I hear shifting in the fine ash, and a weak cry unlike anything human would make.

_“Nobody … nobody at all …”_ An unseen breeze moves past me, tickling the trim of the canopy … towards the portrait of Lucio on the wall. _“Now, this specimen of a man … HE was somebody …”_ The voice trails off. The room feels normal once again. Well, as normal as a clearly haunted room can feel. I feel the need to get away as fast as I can. I scramble to my feet and make a break for the door. Breaking into a run, I continue down the hall, searching the vague darkness for any way out. The portraits on the walls watch me run with cold, aristocratic stares.

_“Come back … come back …”_ That strange voice calls out after me. Against all good sense, I stop and turn around. I only see it for a moment. A silhouette, stark against a wall of high windows frosted with smoke. Claws, horns, and hooves like onyx. One arm is gone, ending abruptly just below the shoulder. The white face of a humanoid goat, with red eyes, fixed gleefully on me. I blink, and it’s gone. I hear clambering off to the side, the creak of a door, and then … silence. By the time I stumble down the stairs, disoriented, Portia is looking around corners for me.

“There you are!” She says. She stares at the fine, powdery ash coating me from head to toe. “What … why are you covered in ash? What did those naughty dogs do?” She produces a plain white handkerchief and hands it to me. All I can muster is a dazed nod of thanks as I dust myself off. My mind feels fogged, struggling to make sense of what I saw, the whispers I heard … Portia takes me gently by the elbow, helping me brush off the last of the ash.

“You know, I’m just going to leave these cakes right here. Let’s get you to bed.” Portia says. I follow at her heels until we arrive at our destination. Thankfully, it isn’t much further. When we reach what is to be my room, she swings open the door with a sweeping gesture.

“These will be your quarters, Shayde.” Portia announces. “You can put your things wherever you like. Breakfast is at sunrise … I’ll wake you.” My fatigue must be showing more than I thought. I let my bag fall to the floor with an unceremonious thump. Eyeing the smooth linens on the bed, I shudder with exhaustion. By the stars, I am tired!

“You look ready to drop. I’ll leave you be.” Portia says. “Sleep well, Shayde.” Her soft voice trails off, and she gently slides the door shut. At once, I burrow into the luxurious sheets. It feels as though I’m weightless. Heart thumping to the rhythm of Portia’s steady, ever-distancing footfalls, I sink into unconsciousness.


End file.
